Very Wicked Things (20 page)

“Like what?”

He nibbled on his bottom lip in a way that made me warm. “Let’s play a game. Tell me a secret.”

“So this is The Secret Game?”

“Totally made it up right this second, but yeah, that’s what we’ll call it,” he said.

“Are there rules to this game?”

“Yeah,” he reached across and played with my fingers, caressing each individual one. “Make it something you’ve never told anyone.”

I racked my brain, but couldn’t come up with a thing that didn’t involve hookers and mobsters. My secrets were not fun ones. “What do I get for telling you my secrets?”

“I’ll give you a kiss,” he whispered, his eyes on my mouth.

A tiny shudder went through me, but I said, “Nope, I need more than that.”

“What do you want then?” His voice deepened.

My eyes flicked out to the parking lot. “I want to drive your kick-ass car.”

He paled. And it was such a switch from the sexy vibe he’d been sending, that I laughed.

He sat back. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Take all the time you need,” I said, my eyes on his Porsche. A hundred thousand dollar car. I couldn’t wait to get my hands around that leather…

“For you to drive my car, I’d want a kiss to go with it. And two secrets, not one.”

I blinked. “This is getting complicated. I’m going to need some paper to keep up with all your rules.”

“My game, my rules. And I want my mouth on yours. Tonight.”

“Oh.”

“Well? I’m waiting,” he growled.

I cleared my throat. “First secret no one knows is I’m half-Russian. My father moved here as a young man with his parents to open a grocery store in Ratcliffe. Katerina is my Russian name Mama gave me for him. Dovey is her name for me.”

“Interesting. What else?”

“I love to play chess and had dreams once of being some kind of champion. Goofy, right? The man who taught me to play was one of the renters in our building. His name was Elvis, and he was forever humming “You Ain’t Nothing But a Hound Dog”. Once, he made me this peanut butter and fried banana—”

“Come on, Dovey, stop playing around and let me in,” he said. “Tell me something real. Shock me.”

“I’ll have you know, Elvis was real. He lived in 2A and was the sweetest black man.”

His reply was to pull his keys out of his pants and dangle them. “Last chance, Dovey. Do you wanna drive my car or not?”

“I’m a virgin.”

A sharp intake of air and a look of wonder greeted me. Had he thought I wasn’t? Because I’m from Ratcliffe?

Seconds passed and passed and passed. Was this a deal breaker?

I shrugged. “I spent my younger years never having anything that was just mine. But I have dance and my body. It’s not much, but I’m waiting for the right person.”

“I think I just fell in love with you a little bit more,” he said.

I let that slide. I mean, what could I say? He was joking.

“Hand over the keys,” I said.

We got up to leave, and he placed his hand in the small of my back, guiding me. The touch seemed almost gentlemanly from a guy who was anything but. It created a fire in me. And it scared me, too. Because usually in life the first time you meet someone, you’re strangers, but with Cuba, it hadn’t been like that. Almost as if we were meant to be, as if we’d known each other in another life and were reconnecting. And I know it was a silly thought, but it stuck with me. Like a dancer who automatically recognizes which toe shoes are hers, my heart sensed him as mine.

Bah. How ridiculous.

We stopped at his car in the parking lot of the restaurant. More than driving his car, I wanted to kiss him. Desperately.

Cuba was a mind reader. “I never got my kiss,” he said. “You gonna give me anything else tonight?” His eyes raked over my short skirt.

I let that go.

“Why do you like me?” I said, feeling bold, obviously delusional from all the carbs.

He scooted in closer to me, and my eyes got tangled up on his big-ass biceps. “It’s hard to say. I think it’s the whole package: the way you don’t care who I am, the way you smile, the way you don’t take any shit from me. But mostly, your ass is so tight from dancing—”

I slapped his arm and he laughed. Then he kissed my earlobe, and I stopped breathing. Our first kiss had been on the nape. Now the ear. My lips were jealous.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks,” he said.

Yeah. Ditto.

“So why do you like me?” he asked casually. But his eyes were filled with intensity.

“There’s a rumor going around you have these prophetic dreams. I want in on the action, maybe open a Tarot reading store or palm-reading or…” I lost my train of thought because he’d kissed my ear again, his teeth nibbling on my pearl earring.

“That’s disappointing. I took you for much deeper than that,” he breathed.

“Maybe I like you for your car.”

He chuckled. “Don’t think I’ll ever let you drive it now.”

“Do you want your kiss?”

“I want way more than a kiss, Dovey.”

Yes. “Like what?”

He didn’t say. Just tilted my chin up and bent down until our noses touched. And it should have been awkward because first kiss moments usually are, but for some reason it wasn’t. The air between us mingled and grew warm. Or maybe that was my face. My lips parted, and I wet them with my tongue. I prayed I didn’t have lasagna breath.

“Are you going to kiss me? Because the build-up is killing me. Just do it already,” I said sil kily, in a tone I’d never used with anyone.

“What if it’s not as good as my dream?”

“Make your dreams come true, then,” I said.

“You’re as cheesy as I am,” he said softly, cupping my face, and then the world went on pause as he pressed me against the car and eased between my legs. His hard body aligned with mine, and he took my mouth gently, giving me soft kisses and then harder ones, tilting his head this way and that, experimenting. He lifted his lips from mine after a while, breathing just as heavily as I was.

“Good?” he asked huskily.

“More,” I whispered, pulling his head back to mine.

He groaned and took my mouth fiercely, applying delicious pressure, giving me what I needed. We sky-rocketed right out of that parking lot as it went from sweet to hot and erotic and mouths wide apart. His tongue took control, and I willingly let him own it. Passion blazed, and my hands hung on to sanity around his neck. He kissed me so long and hard and perfectly until I was convinced I would die from suffocation but I didn’t care. Who needed to breathe?

Kissing Cuba Hudson was a good way to die.

He came up for air, wearing a dazed expression, placing his forehead against mine. “That was a hell of a kiss.”

“Yes,” I admitted. But what was I doing? I had no room in my life for a boyfriend.

He said, “Don’t pull away. I’m scared, too. And I know we’re young, but I feel older than I really am. I’ve gone through some bad shit in my life…” he trickled off.

I cocked my head. It sounded like he’d been through something serious. Maybe his life wasn’t so perfect.

He continued. “Maybe I don’t know your birthday—yet—or if you like country music or pop or rap or whatever. But I do know I’m fascinated by the way your lips curve when you smile. And dammit, now I want to kiss you again.”

“My birthday is October 20
th
, and I like all kinds of music. And yes, please kiss me.”

And he did over and over, making me pant, making me crazy for him.

Then he’d finally handed over his keys to his Porsche and let me drive.

We left Vespucci’s and drove off into the sunset.

Which is now why, sitting here in the same restaurant a year later, I felt like the universe was slapping me in the face.

There was a flurry of activity at Cuba and Emma’s table as they got their coats on to leave. Good riddance. He helped Emma with her jacket, a cropped, brown furry thing that looked like mink. I wasn’t surprised. PETA wasn’t exactly widespread in Texas. I looked down at my own jacket, a plaid red and black piece I’d picked up at the consignment shop. Wooly and warm, no one had killed an animal to make it. Whatever. That didn’t mean I was better than her, but still…

Cuba rested his hands on her shoulders and gave her a reassuring pat, almost brotherly, yet not. She leaned into him for a moment, smiling at him, and well, it was the nicest I’d ever seen her face. My mouth parted as she reached up to kiss him, her petite frame curving into his protective one. Did it make me happy when he turned his cheek and her lips hit the corner of his mouth? Maybe.

Across Emma’s shoulder, our eyes met again. Feeling like an intruder on a tender moment, I glanced away.

A few seconds later, she breezed past me, her Jimmy Choo’s tapping lightly on the marble tile of the restaurant.

I waited for him to pass, but he stopped at my table. “Spider leave?” he asked, sliding into the booth.

“No,” I said in a surly tone, my entire body going stiff. I folded my napkin in tiny squares, not meeting his eyes.

“Where’s Emma?” I asked.
Your baby mama?

“We rode separately,” he said, a wary look growing in his eyes. I knew that look. It meant he didn’t want to talk about her.

“What do you want from me, Cuba?”

He rearranged the bread basket, his hands fidgeting. “Why so hostile? Earlier in the week, you mentioned us getting together and talking? Would you still want to?” He seemed to hold his breath.

“There’s no point. We’re not pals. And I don’t think Emma would appreciate it.”

He gave me a sad smile. “I’m not in love with Emma.”

What did that mean?

Oh, yeah. He didn’t fall in love.

“Why do you think I care?” I said crossly.

“You care,” he replied, sounding beaten.

“Cared, past tense. I don’t anymore.”

“You don’t make a good liar,” he growled at me, eyes low.

“What do you want?” I bit out. Wishing he would go. But not. It was completely messed up.

He spoke then. Killing me.

“When we broke up last year, I went nuts. I’ve lost count of the number of girls I was with after you. It was awful and I—”

My face reddened. “Took that many to erase me? Why do you think I want all the details now?”

His jaw clenched. “I fucked them everywhere. In my house, at their house, in hotels, in clubs, outside, wherever I happened to be. It was a binge. Sometimes more than one at a time. But lately, something’s changed, and it’s like I’m waking up—” he stopped, rubbing his hand through his hair. He swallowed. “I can’t put words to it, but I’m sick of who I’ve become. And I’m sick of being a selfish coward. So you see, you’re lucky you got away from me. I’m fucked up, and I would only have hurt you in the end. More than I had already.”

“You make me sick,” I hissed.

A look of resignation hit his face. “Yeah, I’m not surprised.”

I tossed the napkin on the table, bitterness from the past rising up. “Then stop torturing me with your stories. I already know that you didn’t care about me, okay? There’s no point in rubbing it in.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Dovey, no. Please wait; let me explain. I don’t want to—”

“Is Emma pregnant?” I snapped out, closing my eyes briefly at the sharp slice of pain those words caused.

Silence descended on us, the air crackling with tension. He bit his lip and looked way, twisting his class ring around and around. Finally he faced me, his face hard, his shoulders tense. “She is. And she needs me, and maybe I need this.”

“Just. Please. Go,” I begged, his words killing me inside.

He tensed up. “Dovey, listen to me. I can’t explain everything right now, but you mean something to me, and I—”

“She told you to go. So, get the bloody hell out of my seat, Hollywood,” Spider bit out. He’d come around the corner and had been standing there for a while, obviously hearing most of our convo.

Cuba focused on me, ignoring Spider. “Whatever you think of me…in the past…I made mistakes, but I’m trying to make up for it with Emma—”

“
Get out of my seat,”
Spider bellowed, his entire body drawn up.

The entire restaurant hushed, and the waitress scurried over with refills to make sure we were okay.

“Spider, it’s fine. He’s leaving,” I assured him.

Cuba exhaled heavily and rose, looming over Spider’s smaller six feet. His mouth tightened as he gazed down at him. “Grow up, Spider, and put a leash on that temper of yours. Especially if you’re going to be with Dovey. She deserves better.”

And then he turned and walked out the door.

Spider cursed and sat down. He slapped his cell on the table. “If I’d known he was going to harass you…”

“Let it go,” I said.

He grumbled under his breath, but I ignored him. Maybe I was a little ticked at him because he’d been gone so long. But, he wasn’t my protector either.

Thankfully our food came and both of us got quiet.

“So. Emmo is preggo,” he sang in between bites of his pizza.

I set down my knife and fork on my plate. My food was tasteless anyway. “Yes.”

He shrugged and took a sip of the beer he’d ordered with his fake ID. “She’ll get fat, you know. We can make fun of her. But, she’ll probably get rid of it.”

“Don’t be so flippant,” I snapped, angry with his attitude. “What if that was you and not Cuba?”

He smirked. “Emma is not my type. Too much fake going on.” His eyes scanned over me. “I want someone real, someone like you, Dovey.”

Not this again.

I looked away and took a sip of water to cover up my nervousness, but I don’t think I fooled him.

A few minutes later, we finished and walked out of the restaurant. “Why don’t you come home with me tonight, and we’ll watch a movie.” He pointed out at the white-covered parking lot. “And it might be a good idea if you spent the night. The roads will be crap.”